


You're Excused

by wrabbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comment Fic, Community: fic_promptly, Gen, John Watson is a doctor, Prompt Fic, Sickfic, contains: fluids, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:28:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"blimsnozzle: To be used after someone sneezes. Meaning: That was a pretty good sneeze my friend; I hope you didn't wind up with too much snot in your hand."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Excused

John was exhausted, and he wasn't the one with the flu of the century making his muscles weak and his eyes bright and wet. He grunted, turning his face automatically away from the feverish breath that hit his cheek as he raised Sherlock's surprisingly light weight from the couch with one arm wrapping around his aching ribcage.

"Come on," he said.

"John, I," Sherlock's voice was thready. John stopped in his tracks, holding up in the middle of the sitting room.

"Sherlock? Do you need to puke?"

Sherlock weaved on his feet, pale and breaking out into sweat. "Just hang on," John told him. He moved so that he was holding Sherlock up with one hand gripping his arm. He cringed even as he reached for his lunch in the carry out bag on the table to hold in front of Sherlock's face. There were still chips in it.

Sherlock gagged, doubling from the smell of fried food if nothing else, and John stumbled suddenly backwards, reaching blindly behind himself for the table to catch them both.

"It's alright," he said, trying not to look as Sherlock coughed wetly into the bag. "I wasn't going to finish that anyway." Sherlock's next gag could have been a laugh.

They both stood up straight, breathing heavily, John from his near tumble over the table and Sherlock from his recent exertions. Sherlock was still leaning on John's shoulder with one hand, the other on the table behind him. His breath hitched alarmingly.

John had just enough time to say "Oh no," before Sherlock let loose a truly glorious sneeze.

They stared at each other in surprise and horror - and mounting humiliation - at its intensity, gazes slowly lowering to the thick green rope now plastered over the shoulder of John's sweater.

"Blimsnozzle," said John.


End file.
